Tarashana by Rachel Neumeier (little red riding hood ebook TXT) 📕

his leg out from under him—even with blunted swords, he would feel that bruise. He might have ceded the match to me then, but I did not give him time. I pressed him, making him back up, and cut hard across his side, a blow that would have sheered straight through his lower ribs and his belly had the swords been sharp.

“Enough, enough!” he said then, speaking with some difficulty because that blow had left him gasping and breathless. He tossed his sword to Tano and held up his hands in a gesture that meant the same thing. I stepped back. Once he had recovered somewhat, he knelt to acknowledge defeat.

I gave my practice weapon to Tano as well and signed to Elaro that he should stand, though I did not offer him my hand to help him up. “For a poet, you did well,” I said. This was true enough. I tried not to sound grudging.

“Not that well,” he answered, his tone rueful. “I manage better when the fight is real, fortunately, or I would not have lived long enough to show you my lack of skill.” He got to his feet, cautious of his bruises. Neither of us looked at Darra. He said, “Later, when I am not so stiff, I will ask these young men to show me their clever tricks. That is the kind of trick a poet may do well to learn.”

I nodded.

“Ryo,” Darra said, coming up to us. “Will you come with me now to my wagon? I have some things I wish to say to you.” She spoke quietly, in a tone I could not remember hearing from her before. Not angry, nor decisive, nor forceful. Almost tentative. That was not her ordinary manner. She looked into my face, but in a way that suggested she found this difficult.

I was almost certain I knew what she wanted to say. I said nothing, only turned to walk with her. Elaro did not move to join us. I did not want his company, but when we came to the edge of our camp, I signed to an inGara man I knew, a cousin of mine, a respected warrior some winters older than I, to walk with us. The inKarano camp was not a long distance from the inGara camp, but I remembered very clearly what my eldest brother had said, and what my father had answered. No one would dare offend the daughter of Koro inKarano ... but still, I thought it best if she did not walk between one camp and another with fewer than two warriors to accompany her. “I know you are watching here,” I said to my cousin, whose name was Kotaya. “But if you have a moment, I think perhaps it would be better if you walk with us.”

Kotaya nodded, greeting Darra with a respectful nod. “A wise caution,” he agreed, and fell in on her other side. He went on. “This is a difficult and uncomfortable situation, but I do not think it will last long. The inTasiyo will surely go back to their own territory very soon.”

“They will surely do so,” Darra agreed. “Many have gone already. But Royova does not trust they will go without turning about. I know some inVotaro warriors have followed those people, with orders to watch until they cross the boundaries of inGara territory.”

“Yes,” said my cousin. “I have heard that too.”

I had not, but it seemed a good precaution, and one that freed some inGara warriors from the need to follow  in that way. That was useful, as our people had many other tasks requiring attentive care. No one would attack the inVotaro camp. They could spare warriors more easily than we could.

The edge of the inKarano camp, as that of the inGara camp, had become much more clearly defined. As we had done, the inKarano had moved their tents and wagons close together, and warriors watched everyone who came and went. Two inKarano warriors nodded to me, which today was not only a greeting, but signified permission to pass into their camp. Turning, I gestured thanks to my cousin, who nodded and turned back toward our own camp. Then Darra and I walked on, past the inKarano warriors, toward her own wagon, set, like my mother's tent, near the center of the camp.

When we came to her wagon, Darra first put the entry back for me and then lowered it behind me. Water was already steaming in a bowl set above a brazier, and three lamps, already lit, stood, each on its own small table, at three sides of the wagon, which was beautifully appointed, with many fine things to every side.

She did not pour tisane into any of the bowls stacked beside the brazier. She gestured permission for me to sit and knelt in her own place, opposite the entry. Then she folded her hands in her lap and looked at me for what seemed a long time.

Plainly she did not want to speak. Or she did not know how to say what she wished to say. Finally, I said, so she would not have to say it, “I understand everything. You have decided you do not wish to marry me. You wish to marry Elaro inPorakario. Your female relatives approve this choice, your father approves, everyone approves. I understand. He is a good choice. I am here so seldom, and only the gods know whether that will ever be different. No tribe can object to a man who is not related to any of their rivals or their enemies, so that is—”

“Ryo,” she said. “Stop.”

I stopped, uncertain in what manner I might have offended her. But Darra did not look at me as though she had been offended. She was trying to keep her expression calm, as befits a woman, but her breaths came a little fast, and the tension in her wrists